


this isn't everything you are

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Post-Season/Series 04, Sad Ending, please read the beginning note, spacekru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23557624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: After Praimfaya, Murphy starts to realize that maybe he's not okay, after all.or, a brief look at what we didn't see in the six year time gap. title is from "this isn't everything you are" by snow patrol.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	this isn't everything you are

**Author's Note:**

> !!precursor: this is a fic about depression. the characters in it do not talk about it in a good way or a good light; murphy does not talk about it in a good way or in a good light. there is little to no sensitivity about it in this fic. i'm saying this as a general tw for anyone reading - it does not have a happy ending.
> 
> also, this is strictly about how i experience depression, and the odd feelings that come packaged with it for me. no two people experience depression in the same way, so what is portrayed here is not and is not meant to be a universal experience.

It’s cold, on the Ark.

He’d forgotten the way the chill would sweep through the mechanical corridors and bite through the metal walls, creeping into the veins of its inhabitants like a horrible sickness they had to live with, and just couldn’t shake. Space, too, is cold. Sometimes, he looks outside the window and he wonders what it would be like to be out there, swimming in the stars. 

Murphy knows that the darkness would kill him in a second, but he can’t help but yearn. He’s cold.

For a while, Emori sleeps in his bed with him, but she too grows tired of the ache in his mind and the frost that’s growing on his skin. Their inevitable separation had happened very slowly and then all too quickly for him to catch up with. 

“You’re different,” she says. He’s unsure if it’s morning or nighttime, or some god-awful time in between. The ever-present darkness outside does nothing to help. 

She stands at the doorway, one hand on the doorknob, one lax at her side. He lies in their bed, staring out at the barren, empty room. He feels heavy. He feels exhausted. He feels like he’s been awake for a thousand years and she’s waiting for him to get up and live a thousand more. It feels as if he doesn’t have enough hours in his lifetime to quell his restless, aching bones, so what is the point of trying?

Nobody is trying to kill him. There is no threat to his, or anyone’s, survival. There is just him, her hand on the doorknob, and an empty room that once took everything from him and is now back to take just a little more. 

“Did you hear me?” she repeats. The grip on the knob stiffens. She’s ready to leave - she wants to. There’s no love here, not any kind that he feels. 

“Yes,” he says, an answer to both questions and more she hasn’t asked. 

She grits her teeth, trying to hold her ground. His chest empties out just a little more. He’s hollow inside, and he knows she can see straight through him. There’s nothing of substance there - not anymore. 

“I just-” she says, then holds herself back, tearing her gaze away from his lifeless form to the dull metal floor. “I don’t know what to do.”

If he could, he’d cry - or maybe he wouldn’t. It doesn’t matter. She can’t see it, but his fist closes around the thin sheets, holding on to the only lifeline he sees. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, either, and he’d love to tell her, to give her all the answers she wanted, but it seems he’s stuck becoming whatever  _ this _ is. 

Murphy’s felt like this before. He has. He knows that he has, but he’s never had a quiet moment to process it, to feel it through, to try and see if it ever has an ending. Maybe he deserves this. That’s probably true - he’s no saint. He doesn’t deserve a happy ending, not like the others do, not like she does. 

“Yes,” he says.

Emori sighs, turns the doorknob, and leaves him behind. A new chill sweeps through the room from the hall, coating his body with frost and tiny icicles that melt through his skin and slowly pour his soul out onto the floor. 

It feels like his mind is running at a thousand miles an hour and also moving so slowly he can’t process a single thought. It feels like his world is shrinking down on him but also growing far too large for him to handle. It feels like everybody else either doesn’t notice or has been  _ fine _ with that this whole time, because there’s no way they aren’t feeling this too - or maybe they are. Maybe they are, and he’s the only one who can’t cope.

That’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine. There’s still time for him to jump out of bed and tear down the hallway. He could gather her in his arms, tell her that he’s  _ sorry _ , that this just happens sometimes, but he’ll do better for her. He’ll be better for her. 

His mind tells him he could do this, but his body convinces him that he can’t, so he only rolls over so that he doesn’t have to look at the horrible room any longer and stays still.

* * *

When they’d first got there, he’d tried to help Raven. 

Murphy’s main skill had always been  _ survive above all else _ , but that didn’t contribute very much when the “survival” bit was taken care of and there were no immediate threats to any of their lives. He could cook well enough, sure, but that became Monty and Harper’s domain and the last thing he wanted to do was intrude - his very presence made him feel like he was doing that enough. Abby had shown him a minuscule bit about medicine, too, but there wasn’t much of a need for that and he couldn’t make much sense of the remaining supplies, so that was a waste of time. 

He’d tried to help Raven, but “helping Raven” very quickly turned into Murphy sitting silently off to the side while she worked at the various mechanics around the Ark, trying to salvage systems that had failed years ago. Sometimes, she tried to talk to him - most of the time she didn’t. That wasn’t her fault. He never had much of note to say. 

It’s one of these days when, fingers deep in wire meant to connect radio signals, she says, “You should apologize to Emori.”

The familiar sinking feeling in his chest strengthens. It’s always there, always a reminder of what he truly is ( _ hollow _ ), but most of the time it’s a manageable ache that he can tune out in the background. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“This is hard for her, too.” Raven hasn’t looked at him. She doesn’t sound malicious in her tone, not really, but the meaning hits all too clearly.  _ This is harder for her than it is for you, but here you are, making this all about yourself.  _

“Yeah.”

“She could really use some support right now, okay? So - you should do that. Apologize. Sooner, rather than later.”

He sighs, but he tries to make it inaudible. “Yeah.”

Raven looks at him, for a second, but there’s no pity, empathy, or sympathy in her eyes - only indifference. “Look, we’re all stuck with each other for the next five years. Do you really want to ruin that relationship now?”

_ It’d be easier if I did _ , he almost says, but stops himself. “You’re right.” 

She turns back to her work. He walks out of the control room, no clear destination in mind. She does nothing to try to stop him.

* * *

Before, he’d tried to eat with everyone else, but the constant reminder of what he’s missing out on cut him too deeply. It’s easier to wander into the dining hall after they’ve all long since left. This way, he doesn’t have to worry about what they’ll say to him, or worse, what they’ll think about him when he’s right there to see them do it. 

It was easier when he was in the coma, he decides. It was easier when he had an actual, credible excuse as to why he felt the way he did. It was easier when it was a real physical pain that they all understood - he had something to blame it on, something they all understood.

Now, he enters the dining hall alone, and sits in an empty chair staring at the window. He can see the flaming earth, far away from them. It doesn’t burn so much, not anymore, but the remnants of the fire are forever going to be there. 

There’s a bowl of algae left out for him, as there always is, and he takes it and eats a quarter of it slowly. He hasn’t had an appetite for weeks, but his shred of remaining survival instincts remind him that starvation would not be a good way to die. 

“I’m tired,” he says, to nobody in particular.

Outside, he watches the stars. He watches as space, ever consistent in its darkness, seems to twist and swirl around them, coating them in ink. It’s mesmerizing to see up close like this. 

Maybe - just  _ maybe _ \- it’s better out there. 

He blinks, and suddenly he’s standing up, the bowl of algae discarded. He’s holding the chair he was sitting in above his head. The throw would be simple - the window would crack, if he did it enough times, and then the burning desire in his chest would be fulfilled and he’d be  _ free _ . 

Still, he hesitates. 

It’s not that he wants to die. Truly - he knows how this looks, how it will be perceived, but it’s  _ not _ that. He just - Murphy wants to know what it’s like out there, to have no restrictions, to move amidst the stars, to live in a world where being cold was just a part of life. He wants to experience total, absolute, perfect freedom, for just  _ one _ second of his existence. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, a yearning he’s had his whole entire life, and only now has he learned a way to cure it. 

Still - if he breaks the window, then everyone else on the Ark will die, and they have not made that choice. 

_ It doesn’t matter _ , he thinks, but also,  _ it does. _

_ Useless. Useless, useless, useless _ \- 

“Murphy?”

He spins quickly, still holding the chair above his head. Monty’s hovering at the doorway, looking at him with uncertainty. They stand there in silence for several seconds before Murphy throws the chair down at the ground, watching it tumble and crash to the floor with a disappointing lack of sound and grace. 

Before Monty can say a word, Murphy walks past him and out of the dining hall. 

* * *

When the door to his room opens, he almost hopes that it’s Emori, which is pathetic in and of itself. She’s not coming back. There’s nothing here for her to come back  _ for _ . 

Instead, it’s someone he’s never truly met, let alone talked to. “Hey,” Harper says, “can I come in?” 

She takes his silence for a confirmation and closes the door behind her, slowly moving over to sit down on the bed next to him. For a while, they just sit in silence. He doesn’t know or care what she’s staring at, but he fixates his attention on the opposite wall, trying desperately to stay in the moment so she doesn’t think that anything’s wrong, because nothing is wrong, and he is and always has been perfectly fine. 

“I’ll just say it,” she says. “Monty told me what he saw.”

“Monty didn’t see anything.” His voice is even-tempered, perfectly calm, cool, and collected. 

“Really?”

“Fine. I was redecorating.”

She swallows, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been where you are, you know.”

“Have you?” He doesn’t know why he’s snapping at her. He doesn’t even  _ know _ her - he hasn’t asked. But maybe that’s exactly why. He hasn’t asked for anything from her, and he truly doesn’t care about what she has to say, because he is and always has been perfectly fine and he doesn’t need or want to hear it. Maybe. 

“I was tired of fighting,” she says. She, too, is keeping her cool, much to her credit. It’s not easy to be around him - he knows this, deep inside, but he also doesn’t particularly care right now. “I didn’t want to come with Monty, or come here at all. But I found something worth fighting for. I was wrong to feel that way.”

“You were wrong,” he parrots, exhaling sharply and shakily, fighting his sharp tongue every step of the way. 

“Yes.” She’s so earnest when she says it, it’s as if she truly believes that she’s getting through to him at all. “You have to find what’s worth fighting for, Murphy. Right now that’s  _ us _ \- all of us, on the Ring with you.”

“I don’t think you get to decide that.”

“You don’t have to be alone, not like this.”

“Go away, Harper.”

Her brow furrows. “I don’t think you want me to.”

He could stomach most of her cliche self-help phrases before, but what he truly cannot handle is her assuming what he does and doesn’t want. “You don’t know me,” he says, anger building inside the hole in his chest. With nothing else there in that hollow space, the anger quickly becomes all consuming, tearing through every fiber of his body. “You don’t know me at  _ all _ . And you do  _ not _ know what I am feeling.”

“I do!” she counters. “Ask Monty - he saw me like that. I  _ do _ .”

“Sure,” he says. He’s never felt a fury quite like this one. Ever-encompassing as it is, his voice stays flat and even, only a tinge of bitterness seeping through the edge of his tone. “So you were sad for a day, and then prince charming came and swept you off your feet and now you’re happy again. Is that what you’re saying? Is that all that happened to you?”

“No-”

“You don’t know what  _ any _ of this is like. You have no idea what I feel, or what I should do about it, and you definitely don’t know a single thing about me at all, so you can fuck off with that, thanks.”

Harper stares at him in anger and defiance for only a second, before she leaps up and marches straight to the door. Before she leaves, she turns back for a moment. “If you keep pushing us all away like this,” she says, “pretty soon, you won’t have anyone left.”

And then she’s gone, and all he can think is -  _ good. _

* * *

He grew up on the Ark. He knows its passages well. 

He doesn’t have it in him to stay another second in that room. It’s stifling and suffocating, and he thinks if he spends just one more moment with only a blanket over top of him the cold will encase his bones and he’ll be frozen there forever, resembling something close to a sentient ice cube. 

It’s not funny, but also, it is. 

Murphy easily finds his way into a section of the Ring he’s certain the others won’t follow him to. What with only seven of them up there, they haven’t needed to use all the space - not yet, anyways. It’ll be better if he can claim a section to call his own. It won’t be as claustrophobic as the room was. He won’t feel like he’s sleeping in a metal coffin each night. Maybe it’ll be better, after that. 

It isn’t.

He doesn’t bring any sheets or cloth with him, so he lies on the metal floor. He’s even colder than he was before, but somehow, with the ceiling way above him and the knowledge that the hallway extends past his sightline, it’s easier to cope with it. 

There are escape routes. There are places he can run to, should he need to. 

There’s - Echo. 

She’s standing at the end of the hall, watching him curiously. It’s a while before she speaks, though she eventually tries. “Come on. We’re eating together.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re being stupid.”

He’s still on the floor, and she’s still standing there watching him for a good minute before she rolls her eyes and leaves. He doesn’t say anything back or try to make her stay because she’s right - he is. This is  _ all _ stupid. Nothing is going to try and kill him, yet, it feels like he’s in constant danger every second that passes. He longs for nothing more than to experience the total freedom that space will bring him, but if he can’t have that, then the branching hallways are the next best thing. 

He’s being stupid, but he doesn’t know how to stop.

* * *

Bellamy’s the one that brings him dinner. In fact, he brings him dinner every single night after that. 

“What would you do,” he says one time, “if I didn’t come tomorrow? Would you starve, or would you finally join the rest of us?”

“Starve.”

Bellamy’s eyes soften, only for a moment. “You really hate us that much, huh?”

“No. Now get off my side.”

“ _ Your _ side?”

Murphy nods, almost imperceptibly. He feels like he’s shutting down lately, piece by piece. Slowly, he’s getting tired of this, and the last thing he wants is to bring any part of this onto someone else. They don’t get it. They don’t  _ have _ to get it. It’s better for him if he wastes away here, and kills whatever sickness is inside of him with it, and that way they’ll never be infected. It’s easier. 

Maybe they’ll let him experience space before he dies. Maybe.

“There’s lots of ways for you to help,” Bellamy says, “if that’s what you’re worried about. I definitely don’t have skills like Raven or Monty do, but even I’m helping out where I can. It’s - nice, talking to everyone.”

“No.”

“They’d let you help, if you asked. They want you to.”

“No.”

Bellamy looks like he’s about to go, but something keeps him standing in place. “I don’t pretend to know what’s going on with you,” he says, “but we can help. We can try, at least, okay?”

“You can’t, actually,” he says. He’s not angry like he was with Harper - in this case, Bellamy actually knows him, at least somewhat, and it’s more like telling him a truth he’s kept bottled up for a very long time. It’s easier, with him - it always has been. “You can’t help me, so don’t pretend like you can. Get off my side.”

Bellamy shifts his weight from foot to foot awkwardly, thinking more thoughts than he’ll ever voice aloud. “You’re not worthless, Murphy. Remember that.”

“Great,” Murphy replies, “now, get  _ off _ my side.”

He does. 

* * *

The days go by - at least, he thinks they do. It’s hard to tell. 

Slowly, he can feel his body grow colder and his mind grow fuzzy. It’s not always horrible. Sometimes, he ventures out of his side, but most days he keeps to himself. On the worst ones, he does nothing but lie still in place, not even moving to acknowledge when Bellamy trespasses in his territory. 

Maybe it’s silly to put meaningless boundary marks on his space, but it helps him gain at least a semblance of control. He has to at least pretend that it’s helping, at least for a while, otherwise he will well and truly lose it. 

On the worst days, he’s confident he’s long since lost it. 

He sits on his side of the Ring. It’s a shell of the home he used to have - a fitting resting place when he’s the shell of the man he used to be. They’re like two corpses, himself and the Ring, regrettably buried together. 

Still, he sits there, staring out the biggest window he’s got. He watches the stars; he watches the earth below. He envisions his father outside, sometimes, his mother, too. He grasps at straws to remember happier times, to feel the warmth he once felt from a home he once had. His imagination isn’t good enough for him to see either of their faces, but that’s not what’s important, anyways. 

Sometimes, he’ll wonder if anyone will come and sit next to him. That’d be nice, he thinks, for someone to sit next to him in silence and understand why he’s drawn here, but the spot next to him remains empty and the floor remains cold. He’s chased everybody away. There is nobody coming. 

Staring out the window of the Ring, watching the world below pass him by, Murphy starts to realize that he is incredibly, increasingly, incurably

lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for being a downer lmao? was feeling sad so i wrote a sad thing. regardless of that, i hope it was alright.
> 
> please come talk to me on twitter @reidsnora if you like!


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